


All and Only

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Drama, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, M/M, Pining, Present Tense, Self-Denial, Sexual Fantasy, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 14:03:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16176575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Anakin notices things, whether he wants to or not.





	All and Only

**All and Only**

By LuvEwan

 

* * *

If something takes too long, something happens to you. You become all and only the thing you want and nothing else, for you have paid too much for it, too much in wanting and too much in waiting and too much in getting. -Robert Penn Warren

 

* * *

  
  


He is good at noticing things. He always has been. When he was a kid on Tatooine, the old shopkeep Dunki came by Watto’s to argue with the slaver about a bet. Dunki’s back had been stooped since Anakin had known him, but that day he was bent over just a little more, as if he was reaching for something on the floor but forgot what he was reaching for, and just stayed that way. When he yelled at Watto, he sounded hoarse. After Dunki left, Watto had grumbled about liars and cheats and sleemos and  _ where _ would he get the credits to pay off that no-good shavit-head when he was barely getting by as it was on account of his lazy slaves.

 

Anakin had looked up at his owner and plaintively told him, “Don’t worry about it. He’s not gonna be a problem for long.”

 

And then, a few days later, Watto was practically fluttering and chirping through the junkyard. Dunki had gone to bed the night before and never woke up. 

 

He just notices things.

 

He noticed that his mother sang him an extra song on nights when she was sad. He learned to hate that song, as he had learned to hate so much when he was a slave. She cooked him zucca boar stew when he came home with bruises, and when he was freed, he vowed to never eat stew again. It tasted like bloody teeth and his mother’s helplessness. 

 

He notices when Padmé is nervous about a Senate session, because she always pulls her hair into a severe style, high and away from her face. When she wears it down, with curls spilling all around her milky shoulders, Anakin knows she is happy. 

 

And that soon,  _ he  _ is going to be happy.

 

He notices when Mace Windu is irritated by him (which is most of the time) because his jaw tightens slightly. As a new Padawan, he had noticed when the other Padawans judged him; their eyes would flick over him as they spoke, searching for that golden thread in his aura, the mark of the Chosen One. But he knew all they saw was an undeserving slave boy from a dirtball in the Outer Rim. 

 

On missions, he notices when a dignitary slips out of a meeting before everyone else, or when a queen stares a moment too long at a particular servant. He knows Neimodians wet their lips when they are about to lie. 

 

And he knows when a droid or ship is about to malfunction, because he notices a half-click or hum where there shouldn’t be. 

 

Anakin supposes everyone notices details. He and Obi-Wan are on Demous Four and there isn’t much to notice, except that it smells a lot like dead Bantha, and the people never smile. They move so fast since the war started, from one world to another; it is the quirks of a place that he mostly remembers. 

 

He notices that Obi-Wan is tired. His teacher can erect poreless duracrete walls around himself, walls where not even Anakin can find a crack. This makes it more difficult to notice his moods, unless Obi-Wan  _ wants  _ him to notice. And that is usually because he is angry, flabbergasted, disappointed. Or, every once in awhile, because he is content. That happened even less in the last two years. 

 

But when Obi-Wan is tired, Anakin notices he tends to run his finger along his right eyebrow. He is doing that now, smoothing his brow as he speaks to the troopers. The sky churns grey and black above them.

 

Another storm. 

 

Anakin stands apart from his Master. They had tracked Grievous here. Unfortunately,  _ maddeningly,  _ the droid general follows a pattern: slaughter, then disappear. The murderous wraith was already gone by the time they landed.

 

He and Obi-Wan have their own pattern: war, sleep, rain. After leaving Tatooine for the first time, rain was a novelty, a miracle. When it rained on Naboo, he and Padmé ran through the grasses at the lake house, letting the water bead on their skin. Later, they would look for the faint apparition of rainbows and Padmé would laugh softly in his ear. 

 

He cannot remember when they were last together. 

 

The war seems to inspire rain. It follows them wherever they go. Drizzles, downpours. Obi-Wan hates hail. Falleen had fist-sized hail. Anakin remembers because it was the first time he heard his Master use an expletive not even Anakin recognized. It was also where he discovered Obi-Wan didn’t see proper rain until he was eleven, having grown up on Coruscant with its manufactured weather. He is comforted by these small reminders that he and Obi-Wan aren’t totally different after all. 

 

Anakin watches Obi-Wan, russet and cream in a throng of white-armored soldiers, his arms crossed over his chest. Behind them looms a barren forest of bleached, naked trees.       

 

He cannot remember when they were last apart. They are no longer Master and apprentice, but the Council assigns them missions as a team. Generals Kenobi and Skywalker. The Negotiator and The Hero With No Fear.  Anakin has spent as much of his life with Obi-Wan as he had ever did in his mother’s care, and far more than the scant days he is able to sneak away to be with his wife. He knows Obi-Wan better than anyone knows him. Which still doesn’t feel like enough. 

 

Obi-Wan turns and walks toward him. “I’ve spoken with the Council. Grievous has disappeared again, as expected. We’ll regroup and head to Boz Pity before the storm hits.” His voice is softer than the authoritative tone he uses with the troopers. 

 

Probably because it’s like talking to himself. They don’t have to pretend with each other. They don’t really need to  _ talk  _ at all. 

 

Anakin nods, looking into the familiar eyes. Obi-Wan’s eyes never change, even as the Universe changes and darkens around them. They look as blue and clear as they did when he promised to train Anakin, all those years ago. Sometimes, the urge to know everything behind those eyes is overwhelming, a hot itch in his brain. “Sounds good.” He replies, and thinks of Padme’s dark eyes. He has seen her eyes glimmer with tears, widen with surprise, roll back in precious rapture. 

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes never change.

 

While they prepare to leave, the rain comes in earnest. Water sluices off their robes. Soon their boots sink in the colorless mud. The spindly white trees do nothing to hold back the onslaught. They gather their supplies and run for the ship. 

 

* * *

 

 

Anakin notices that Obi-Wan is modest. He waits until they are in their cramped sleeping quarters with the door sealed before he peels off his sodden cloak 

 

As always, when they are alone, Obi-Wan acts as if  _ he  _ is alone. Anakin is a nonentity, an outcropping of the wall. Or an outcropping of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan’s leggings cling to his calves and backside. 

 

Anakin sits on the edge of his bunk. He has already changed into fresh tunics—what passes as fresh. His skin still smells like the rain, wet earth. He is too worn out to go to the sonics. He’d rather get a few more minutes of sleep, because they will land on Boz Pity soon and it will all start over again. He falls back against the thin cot and crosses his arms behind his head. He gazes up at the scratched metal ceiling. His eyes shut.

 

He listens to Obi-Wan move around the tight space. The man’s thoughts are unfailingly orderly. How had Grievous outsmarted them this time? Would Boz Pity give them a badly needed foothold in this damn war, or would it be a bloodbath? Were they straying too far from the tenets of the Code by fighting these endless battles?

 

Anakin wishes he could keep his mind so linear. Instead, he wanders from the war to Coruscant to Tatooine to Padmé to his mother to the way Dunki had looked on that last day Anakin had seen him, his sunken yellow eyes looking over at him through the swirls of dust in Watto’s shop. Had Dunki known he was at the end? Was it something you could feel, a new and inexplicable heaviness in your bones? 

 

He drops his head to the side and lifts his eyelids. 

 

Obi-Wan is bent over, collecting his wet clothes from the floor. He is a pale silhouette drawn in the darkness, and Anakin can see the bare curve of him. 

 

His pulse quickens. He lays very still with his eyes closed. The ship vibrates beneath him. 

 

Anakin notices things, whether he wants to or not.

 

* * *

 

On Boz Pity, they do not stop. It is a day without night, without rest, a day that stretches into weeks, or months, Anakin cannot keep track, or rig a comm well enough to contact Padmé. Will she think he is dead? Is she alright? But he would know if the worst happened, as he would know if someone stabbed and then gutted him. 

 

She is fine. He will be fine.

 

Obi-Wan will be fine, too. Anakin asks him at some point, when they have a second to breathe, and Obi-Wan smiles at him and says “Right as rain.”

 

* * *

 

They are in a barracks with a dozen other men. Anakin notices that when Obi-Wan finally pulls off his boots, he makes a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, like….

 

* * *

 

Side by side, the two of them rush into fire, chaos, certain death. 

 

But nothing is ever certain, and somehow, they live. 

 

* * *

 

In the jungles of Kalee they almost don’t live. Anakin is shaken but also invigorated, like his senses are electrified. The locals give him a jug of moonshine and although Jedi are not permitted to accept gifts, he stows it away. 

 

Their ship has been destroyed. Rescue won’t t arrive for a day, at least. After nightfall Anakin sets up a crude tent from animal hides, another kindness from the Kaleens. Obi-Wan makes a joke about his former apprentice and thick skin. An answering jab slips from Anakin’s mouth without him even trying. This is what they do.

 

He makes a fire and they sit around it, eating ration bars, though it’s more like chewing than eating. They were able to fill a couple canteens with milk in the nearest village. Obi-Wan drinks deeply, and when he lowers his canteen, his lips gleam, and milk runs down the corner of his mouth into his beard.

 

Anakin puts his canteen down and clears his throat. “That was too close back there.”

 

“Yes, well…” Obi-Wan gazes at him from across the crackling flames. Shadows tremble along the side of his face. Blood has dried on his temple. They barely notice the smaller gashes and bruises. “It keeps us on our toes.”

 

Anakin snorts. “I’d just like to  _ keep  _ all my toes.”

 

“That’s the plan.” Obi-Wan smiles. He takes a few quick swallows and wipes his mouth with a thumb. 

 

Anakin misses Padmé. He just misses Padmé. He misses her soft mouth and sweet, yielding body. He is thinking of skin and warm breath. He is sitting too close to the fire; sweat trickles from his hairline. 

 

“Is everything alright?” Obi-Wan is studying him. He can feel the stir of his old teacher’s concern in the Force. “You seem unsettled.”

 

Anakin musters a smirk. “I guess nearly getting my head ripped off by a gundark does that to me.”

 

Obi-Wan sighs. His shoulders are sagging, revealing a fraction of fatigue. “We  _ do _ seem to attract them.”

 

They were magnets for beasts. And rain. Anakin can feel mist gathering in the atmosphere. He blinks, and for a moment the fire blurs and he sees Obi-Wan narrowly escape a killing blow, his blue blade arcing through the vines and claws and snarling gundarks. There are so many  _ almosts _ that Anakin finds himself getting jittery at random times, cold dread balling in his stomach. He doesn’t know what to do with this quiet. He doesn’t know how to  _ not  _ be on alert, how to be the way they were. He wants desperately for it to be like that again. They’ve always been complicated, opposites bleeding into an occasionally smothering oneness. He used to think Obi-Wan was the closest he would get to having a father.

 

Anakin grew out of that notion as they became equals, or close to it. He doesn’t view Obi-Wan as his father, or even his brother anymore. Sometimes Obi-Wan seems like another version of Anakin, what he could be if he was better, more controlled, truly centered. Other times, he looks at Obi-Wan and feels a melancholy kind of pity. No one misses Obi-Wan while they are away on these marathon missions. When they make a rare stop on Coruscant, Anakin falls into Padme’s unconditional embrace. For Obi-Wan, there is only duty, never a consummation of frenzied worry and lust and need. 

 

Anakin knows that he cannot be the Jedi Obi-Wan is. He cannot tame his heart. And when he is being honest with himself, he doesn’t want to tame it. Wondering what Obi-Wan would be like if his guard came down is a road that splinters in a hundred directions, but they all end in wet trousers outlining the swell of buttocks, Obi-Wan bent over, naked and unaware, heady exhales and milk across his lips in a white sheen--

 

He stands up suddenly and rummages through his rucksack. He finds the moonshine.

 

Obi-Wan is cocking an eyebrow at him when he sits back down. “And what is that?”

 

Anakin is not a Padawan anymore, so he unscrews the lid and takes a test drink. The straight alcohol burns down his throat. He coughs and shivers. “An offering from the villagers. It would’ve been rude to refuse them, don’t you think?” He points the glass jug toward Obi-Wan in silent invitation, stifling another cough behind his fist. 

 

He does not expect Obi-Wan to reach for the moonshine, and he  _ really  _ doesn’t expect Obi-Wan to drain half the jug, swallowing it smoothly, like he is chugging water rather than hard liquor brewed in a hut. The older Jedi hands the jug, considerably lighter now, back to Anakin. 

 

Anakin gapes at him. 

 

Obi-Wan grins. “Oh please. I could drink Qui-Gon under the table.”

 

* * *

 

They pass the jug between them. Anakin feels pleasantly hazy, though he retains awareness of their surroundings, a part of his brain still listening for trouble. 

 

Obi-Wan, however, is sloshed. There’s no other word for it. His smile is loose and his words run together. He  _ laughs _ . Not just his usual restrained chuckle, but a full-bodied, tears-streaming-down-his-face laugh. Warmth is blooming in Anakin’s head, chest. Everywhere. This is what no one else in the Universe gets to hear. This is just for him, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been brought on by an incredible amount of homemade booze. He wants Obi-Wan to laugh, and remember that things used to be brighter. 

 

That maybe they will be again, if the war ends.

 

When.  _ When. _

 

Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair. “I do hope there’s not an ambush tonight.”

 

Anakin smiles. It’s funny hearing his Proper Core World Accent all slurred. “You mean because you’re drunk?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Obi-Wan straightens and crosses his arms, as if scandalized by the accurate observation. “Because I am rather tired.”

 

Nocturnal creatures rustle in the dense jungle around them. Tiny, cool droplets land on Anakin’s tunics, fall into the hissing fire. He appraises Obi-Wan’s condition. “Are you gonna make it to the tent?”

 

“Of course.” Obi-Wan insists. “I’ve been...making it to tents... since before you were born.”

 

Anakin bites his bottom lip to hold in a very inappropriate giggle. “Alright. I’ll take your word for it, but I’ve never seen someone weave  _ that  _ much when they’re not even on their feet yet.”

 

“And if the great Anakin Skywalker hasn’t seen it, it must not exist.” Obi-Wan quips, climbing gracelessly up from his place by the fire and stumbling in the wrong direction.

 

In the end, Anakin takes his arm and leads him to the tent. There’s no bedrolls, but the marsh is soft enough, and the animal skins should hold back the rain. They’ve managed with a lot less, and in a lot worse conditions. Obi-Wan sort of plops onto the ground (something else Anakin has never seen him do before) with a ragged sigh. 

 

“Stupid Gundarks.” He mumbles.

 

Anakin touches Obi-Wan’s knee. “Are you--”

 

“Fine. ‘m fine.” Obi-Wan is yanking at his boots. “I’ll get these boots off and go to sleep and then,” he grunts, “tomorrow we’ll see a different world that the war’s ruined.”

 

Shavit. Anakin wants the laughing back. He unbuckles the scuffed boots and slides them off. If there’s a stale aroma, he can’t smell it. They don’t register each other’s stink anymore. Obi-Wan fumbles for the fastens of his belt, and Anakin undoes those too, fingers grazing rain-splattered tunics. 

 

Obi-Wan sinks onto his back and pats the space beside him.

 

It is nothing. Anakin’s heart is thundering in his ears, louder than the torrent outside. He lays in the spongy marsh and folds his hands over his stomach. It is too dark to see the belly of the tent above them. He is close enough to Obi-Wan that their arms lightly touch. 

 

Anakin closes his eyes and allows himself to breathe in peace. He never excelled at meditation but this is a kind of meditation, a rare stillness he can appreciate. Obi-Wan is silent for several minutes. Anakin looks sidelong at the other man. “Obi-Wan?” 

 

“Hmmm?” An uneven sound, floating up from the ether of inebriation.

 

He knows Obi-Wan can metabolize the alcohol if he wishes. Maybe he is already in the process. Anakin misses Padme. It’s been so long since he’s felt her soothing caresses. “Have you ever...uh...been with someone?”

 

“...I don’t... think about such things anymore.”

 

Anakin struggles to swallow.  _ Anymore  _ is not the same as  _ never.  _ Padme likes to trace the muscles of his arms and chest with her fingers, and her hair carries the scent of wild flowers from the lake house and strands brush across his skin where he’s sensitive. “I do.” He says, honestly, because Obi-Wan drank more than half of the jug, and will not remember. “More than I should.” 

 

A Jedi should never be distracted by pleasure. A Jedi should never be tempted.

 

Obi-Wan had let Anakin take off his belt. He undresses in front of him, and on that ship to Boz Pity Anakin saw everything. He still sees it, when he closes his eyes, or when they’re issuing orders to the troops, or eating or -- 

 

“It will pass. Qui-Gon told me that, and it’s true.” Obi-Wan murmurs. 

 

_ For you.  _ Anakin thinks, and a little bitterness seeps into the tent. Obi-Wan has always been  _ Obi-Wan _ . Anakin is not as easily trained. He has to beg his body to obey. He imagines Obi-Wan as a Padawan, as he had looked when they first met on Naboo, smooth skin and cropped hair and lithe figure. Did he ever feel tormented by the urges of his own flesh then? Did he ever give in, even once? His cheeks are hot. “But have you?”

 

A nameless bird calls through the thunder. Obi-Wan rolls onto his side, facing him. Anakin can barely see the outline of his features. “Do you think that’s your business?”

 

Anakin’s pulse thrums against his neck. “I think you’re always my business, Obi-Wan. You’re my life.”

 

Obi-Wan falls back into the marsh and lays there silently.

 

Anakin licks his lips. The moonshine has left his system. It is all him, only him, who speaks. “Don’t you feel the same about me?” He breathes harder when no answer comes. “Don’t you?”

 

“...Yes.” Obi-Wan whispers. 

 

Anakin conjures an image of Padme. Since he was nine years old, she has been the pinnacle of fantasy. Now he has her. They  _ belong  _ with each other. They fit. They fit in a way that makes him feel safe. She always wants him. She receives every message, every touch, every thrust with eagerness and love. Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to want like that. It was drilled out of him before Anakin ever knew him. 

 

He doesn’t want Obi-Wan anyway.

 

He doesn’t.

 

He wants his friendship, his respect. He wants to open the doors Obi-Wan keeps closed, and know him to the core. He is just confused, and that’s why he cannot get the wet leggings out of his head. He just misses Padme. He doesn’t mean Obi-Wan is his  _ whole _ life, but they spend every day together, and he cannot deny he loves him. 

 

Palpatine has gently suggested he loves Obi-Wan too much.  _ “You will never receive what you are looking for from a Jedi, Anakin. Certainly not Obi-Wan Kenobi.” _

 

He had not asked Palpatine what he thought Anakin was looking for. He worries that even a Force-blind politician notices his conflict (not that Palpatine isn’t an intelligent and observant man). He worries Padme notices it, despite their constant distance.

 

He just wants to know if Obi-Wan is human. He is frustrated by all of the Master’s artful evasions. Obi-Wan is not supposed to be The Negotiator with _ him _ . “Do you ever think about it?”

 

Obi-Wan sighs. “That is against the Code.”

 

“Since when are thoughts against the Code?” Sometimes his thoughts are his only comfort, as much as they terrorize him. The Order cannot take his thoughts from him. “Thinking isn’t doing.”

 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, and he doesn’t sound drunk, merely exhausted. “I do not think of  _ or  _ do what is forbidden to me. The Light, Anakin.”

 

Anakin notices when Obi-Wan drifts to sleep, a few minutes later. He lays awake as the rain batters their temporary shelter.

 

* * *

 

In the very early morning, the storm stops, leaving a chill behind. Anakin is staring at the skinned hide stretched over their heads when Obi-Wan moves closer, unconsciously seeking warmth. He presses against Anakin, head and arms and legs and parts that Anakin cannot bear to feel, except he doesn’t want to wake Obi-Wan by withdrawing. 

 

So he stays still.

 

Obi-Wan is completely relaxed, his limbs boneless and a thin stream of drool pooling from his open mouth onto Anakin’s shoulder. 

 

His own arm is going numb under Obi-Wan’s weight. He realizes he is holding in his breath so much his chest is starting to ache. There is more aching. He aches.

 

* * *

 

 

Obi-Wan is nearly on top of him now. 

 

On that ship he should have looked away. Obi-Wan thought he was asleep. 

 

Didn’t he? 

 

* * *

 

He slips into a muddled limbo, not asleep or awake. There, Obi-Wan is turned away from him, his leggings are soaked from the rain, and if Anakin could do what he wanted, he would rise from the bunk on that ship to Boz Pity and come up behind Obi-Wan and run his hand down the saturated fabric and feel the warm fullness and  _ squeeze _ …

 

Would Obi-Wan have turned around, betrayal reflected in his blue eyes, or... _ or... _ would he have arched into the hands that explored him, and parted his legs and permitted Anakin to touch him  _ there _ and back him into the wall and pull his uniform off until he wasn’t a Jedi or a General, until he was just Obi-Wan surrendering to Anakin and Anakin would push into him and know what he felt like, what he sounded like, would have this part of Obi-Wan that no one else had. 

 

He knows they would fit, too. In a different way than he and Padme, but no less significant. 

 

* * *

 

Anakin falls asleep at some point, because he wakes up as dawn streams through the tent and realizes his hand is where it cannot be. He rolls away from Obi-Wan and thinks of Padme, how wonderful it is to turn to her in their bed in the morning and plant kisses along her slender, graceful neck.

 

That is what he wants.

 

Except he notices things, even when he does not want to. And he notices that his straying hand has not only affected him. He is not supposed to see that. Or want that.

 

Obi-Wan sleeps on, face half against the marsh. Anakin notices he looks younger when he is asleep. It is easy to forget that Obi-Wan is a young man. He is also a smart and intuitive man, and they are so attuned to each other, surely Obi-Wan would know when his former Padawan was asleep or awake, would feel if Anakin’s eyes were watching his naked body.

 

* * *

 

Anakin notices that Obi-Wan is avoiding him since their rescue from Kalee. On the transport to their next assignment, he speaks to him when necessary, relays orders from the Council, but during down times, Obi-Wan does not look for Anakin.

 

He cannot help but worry that Obi-Wan remembers 

 

He will contact Padme as soon as they land.

 

\----

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I cannot figure out why I have so much extra spacing when I publish lately. I don't have it spaced like that when I write. I apologize if it's distracting.


End file.
